


Fuel to Fire

by lenticularprint



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Canadian Shack, Extra Treat, Hurt/Comfort - undressing, M/M, Sudden Realization - Oh No They're Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 01:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16692739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenticularprint/pseuds/lenticularprint
Summary: All right, so Jensen’s an arsehole, not ugly. Not that it matters.It doesn’t change anything.





	Fuel to Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreadlordTally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadlordTally/gifts).



> Your prompts were awesome, and I couldn't resist a chance to write one of my favourite pairings with some of my favourite tropes.

Mac’s sighting down the barrel when he says, “You got an eye on him?”

Jensen grunts. “Yeah. Halfway there.”

Then there’s a flash from across the room and suddenly Jensen’s there, decking some overpowered aug idiot. Said idiot comes back up swinging. Jensen catches the bloke’s fist with his own and  _throws._ The idiot does an unwilling somersault and slams into the floor hard enough Mac would wince if he weren’t concentrating.

He’s aiming, ready to finish off an aug who’s wearing three tons of metal and armour but who stupidly left their neck exposed -

“ _Macready!”_

He hears the crunch of footsteps a second too late, turns -

The aug reaches for him, a few inches away -

\- and then Jensen’s grabbing them, pulling them back with a snarl. They’ve got one of those fucking armswords, and they stab for Adam, who dodges. He moves like smoke, inhuman, but they’re… they might be as fast. Shit.  _Shit._

He sees the moment they catch Adam – with their arm, thank god, not the blade. But it lands with a heavy  _thud_ , and... Adam staggers back. Shit. Still weird to see.

Adam catches himself, but they’ve already retracted the blade and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him in – They’re going for the face. Fuck.

Mac reaches for the knife at his belt, closes his hand round the hilt -

Jensen snarls and fights it and then he’s grappling with the aug, lightning-fast. It’s inhuman. The aug grabs for him, tries to hit him, hands moving so fast they're a blur – and Jensen matches every blow, takes it all and pulls it back.

Something lights up on the aug’s arm, and there’s a shock of electricity. Jensen hisses in pain and stumbles, only briefly, but it’s enough. The aug grabs his face and gets a couple of good hits in, metal fingers clenching like they want to crush his skull -

They curse and stagger back. It was fast enough it takes Mac a second to get his head around what just happened, but he realises Jensen just gave them a truly dirty knee to the crotch. Then Jensen’s stepping back and his hand… opens…

The aug shudders, sparks dancing over their skin, and then drops.

Mac’s enough of a professional not to stare. “Nice taser,” he comments, idly.

Adam grunts, and nods. He steps back and then crouches to cuff the bastard, a knee on their back. All normal grumpy-arsehole behaviour… but when he stands, there’s just a little unevenness to his gait, a tired slump to his shoulders. He frowns. Then he raises one black metal hand to his face, laying a palm across the shades.

“What, dislodged a gear or something?” Mac says.

Jensen snorts. “You could say that. I’ve got this one.” The  _Shut up and keep going_ is unspoken.

It’s only later, when they’re about to head back to the VTOL, that Mac spots a dark figure leaning against the wall, head tilted back. Jensen sighs heavily. “ _Diagnostics_ ,” he mutters. Talking to whatever onboard system he’s got, not insane, though the latter would explain a lot. He stands there, silent, and Mac sees him grimace, briefly. He tilts his head this way and that, like he’s trying to shake something out.

Mac pauses. Considers doing the sensible thing and just fucking off. But something makes him double back – maybe having his hide saved, or how bloody  _tired_ Jensen looks – and say, “You all right?”

Jensen looks up like he’s surprised, even though he must’ve known, between the radar and his super-aug ears. Nods. “Yeah. Just… He got a good hit in.” His mouth twitches, brief but there. Takes a second to realise it’s a smile, wan and brief and not like the shit-eating smirk Mac’s seen before. He looks Mac’s way, and in the light, Mac sees something wrong with the frame of one of the shades.

“Can those things break? Next to your  _eyes_?”

Jensen shakes his head. “Sarif R&D thought ahead. It’s not like glass.” He shrugs off the wall and starts walking, and somehow they end up walking… in the same general area. Yeah, maybe together.

Miller buzzes them on comms and everyone ends up piling into the VTOL. Simple enough.

At least until they’re by the lockers, he’s hanging up his gear and he hears a low curse.

He thinks, again, of leaving it. Of being sane.

Then he crosses past a row of lockers, to a dark corner – what, is Jensen a bloody bat? - where he can hear rustling. He sees Jensen standing with a hand against the wall, slumped and exhausted. Hanging back again. And wiping a hand across his face. Shit. Mac recognises the red of blood against shining black augs.

“Jensen,” he starts, “if you’re injured...”

And then Adam looks up.

Mac tries not to blink in surprise when he sees bright green eyes. There’s a ring of gold around the pupil – inhuman, and so augmented it’s almost obnoxious. They’re also tired, with crow’s feet and long eyelashes, and… fucking pretty. The file didn't get that across, how expressive they are.

Adam raises a brow at his silence. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Then what’s that?” Mac nods to the trickle of blood re-emerging.

Adam wipes at it again, and just succeeds in smearing it against that fussy beard. “Nothing internal. He just nicked a few blood vessels. The Sentinel’ll clear it up.” He tilts his head, looks at Mac challengingly. “You always been such a mother hen?”

“Sod off.” But Mac swallows, and for some reason, he stays. “Actually, Jensen?” He doesn’t know why he says it. Honour, maybe, because you don’t screw someone over who’s helped you in the field. Or a chance to get a look at those bloody weird eyes again. “Thanks. For before.”

Adam inclines his head. Half-smiles.

Mac says, “Enjoy that. It’s not happening again.”

Adam snorts, looks aside, and there’s a flash of white teeth against that dark beard. It’s different, with his face uncovered. Looks more genuine, weary rather than smug.

Actually, when their eyes meet again, Adam looks pale and stubbly and not much like an overaugmented madman at all. There’s blood on his face, and that normally irritatingly perfect hair is starting to get floppy. And his eyes are shadowed, crinkling with his smile. That half-smirk softens to something realer, warmer, and…

Something drops abruptly into the pit of Mac’s stomach and says  _Fuck yes_. A kick of something dark and familiar, unfolding like a good whisky, even if it’s been a while. His throat goes dry, and he realises he’s been paying a bit much attention to Jensen’s mouth.

Fuck. No.  _No._

All right, so he’s not fucking  _blind._ Jensen’s an arsehole, not ugly. Not that it matters.

It doesn’t change anything. He has nice enough wallpaper in his office, it’s not like he wants to take it home or take it to dinner. He’s got less than no interest in pursuing anything with -

Jensen, who’s already had the shades repaired the next day, and keeps them on. It’s a relief, frankly, that things are back to normal. He can work with teeth-gritted sarcasm and those weird eyes hidden again.

And maybe he looks twice, sometimes, and wonders why the augs aren’t distracting him as much as they used to. Specs-wise, Jensen’s more of a Swiss army knife than a man. But now, he catches Jensen snickering at something with Argento and admits to a flare of curiosity. Or he notices Jensen hanging round the coffee machine. And it’s not that he didn’t before, but now he can see it: that tiredness, the little moments where Jensen can’t quite hide what he’s thinking. How different he looks when you can actually get him to smile.

Doesn’t matter. Not like he’s interested. Jensen’s a pain, and he hasn’t got time for this shit.

 

 

 

And he could put all that aside, but... Look, he’s got no idea how they ended up hobbling through the snow with him leaning heavily against Ad – Jensen.

Well, he does have some idea. This isn’t a team-building exercise, Jim wouldn’t be that fucking  _gauche,_ but he’s sure someone else could’ve been sent on such a small extraction mission. All right, so he’s got several people on ops, but still.

It was meant to be simple. This is anything but. At least they’ve already sent the info along, before they ended up in a storm with static on comms.

“Where the fuck are we?” he grits out, squinting against the snow.

“You say that like I’d know.” There’s a second’s pause, and Jensen must be consulting the map aug. “Somewhere outside...” Adam says something with a lot of syllables that might've been vaguely familiar, once, but weirdly enough, Mac's having trouble getting his brain working when he's trying not to become an iceberg.

“Christ.” A city boy from the States and a Brit. Fucking brilliant.

“How’s your side?”

“Hurts like a bastard. I’m more bothered about freezing to death. Got any ideas?”

“There’s an outpost… Huh. Less than a quarter of a mile.”

It’s a slow, white-knuckled hobble. The good thing is that he barely seems to be slowing Jensen down at all. Probably the souped-up arm augs. The bad thing is that makes him aware that Jensen’s just slowing down for him, to make a pretence of not dragging him along.

“You must be fucking freezing,” Mac pants. Pain and cold are making him breathless. All in all, it’s not the best day at the office he’s had.

Adam glances at him, briefly, then back at the horizon. “There’s a temperature regulator in the Sentinel. Works pretty well unless I’m in water.”

“Wait, so you don’t even have to wear that bloody coat?”

The flicker of a smile, albeit through gritted teeth. “That’s… not how it works.”

Mac grunts. “Sure. Then how – Ow,  _fuck.”_

Now Jensen’s definitely looking at him. “You all right?”

“Doesn’t matter. Keep going.”

And Jensen does. Good. Because a flesh wound won’t matter much if his spotter ends up a blue corpse.

“C’mon,” Jensen mutters, “we’re nearly there.”

Yeah, they are. And  _outpost_ was pushing it. Mac sees a shack and a generator, with fuck-all for miles around other than a pylon. Right. Great. At least the satellites should cover it. Please, God, let the satellites cover it. He’s not in the mood.

Then Jensen’s shifting to lean against a metal wall, waving a hand at a doorcode panel like he’s in one of those old bloody movies… Jensen clenches his fist, and there’s a beep as the door opens. Jensen briefly glances at him, daring him to say something.

It probably shows how much pain he’s in that he doesn’t bother, just glares back meekly.

Then they’re staggering into the shack, and the warm air hits him like a blessing and a curse. It’s only a slight temperature difference, though – an upgrade from  _my balls are in danger_ to just  _fucking cold._

He leans against the wall, and wants to double up, but that’ll just make the pain worse. “Tell me they’ve got a fire or... something.” It comes out oddly, and he realises his teeth are chattering.

From the quick glance Jensen throws him, he’s not the only one who noticed. “Yeah,” Jensen says, crossing the room to a terminal. “Looks like… yeah, there’s a smart heating system.” A quiet clacking of metal fingers on keys, and then a low hum starts in the room. A subtle, warm light starts to come from the walls.

Mac tries to get his bearings. There’s one bed, utilitarian and barracks-style but with blankets at least, and a couple of desks. One of which Jensen’s standing by, squinting at a screen. “Can you get anyone on comms?”

Jensen shakes his head. “I’ll keep trying. It doesn’t look like this place has been used in a while.” Then he looks up, and even with the shades, Mac knows an assessing stare when he sees one. “You’re shivering.”

He strips off his sodden gloves and rubs his chilled, stiff hands together. “Yeah, well. Canada’s a pain in the arse.” He tries to snap it out, but it still sounds… off. He knows he should be feeling better, but he just… can’t get warm. Least he  _is_  still shivering. He knows the signs, he’s worked in enough less-than-ideal places, and he’d be more worried if he couldn’t.

When he looks up, Jensen’s halfway across the room, and coming closer. But his steps are slow, thoughtful, and even behind the shades, Mac gets the feeling he wouldn’t be looking him in the eye. “I… uh… I said the augs run hot, right?”

"Somewhere in there, yeah." Mac realises that his fingers won’t fucking work. They’re seized and painful, and this is… fucking brilliant. "Temp regulator?"

Jensen nods. “I can vent excess heat. Slowly. Kind of a safety measure.”

Mac grunts. “Good for you.” And then he remembers his old drills, and looks up. Into those impassive gold shields, but Adam’s eyebrows are raised, waiting for him to get it. “Tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”

Jensen swallows.

“Come on, there  _has_  to be some other - “

Jensen glares back at him. “I don’t care how layered up you are, neither of our tacgear was ever made for this length of exposure. Not like we’re in full thermals. And yours has to be soaked.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll...” Mac reaches to his shoulders to start unbuckling. Tries to make his frozen-solid fingers work, and resoundingly fails. “Fuck.” He thinks it over, and then sighs. “We’re never talking about this again, all right?”

“Not like I’m in a hurry to disclose either.” Adam shrugs a shoulder. “Can I…?”

Adam reaches out a hand, slowly. Too slowly, and what the hell’s taking him so long?

Mac realises, too late, that Adam assumes he’ll be jumpy round the augs. And that he’s been staring at those shining metal fingers for far too long, following every movement. Those hands have punched through walls and beaten the shit out of augmented thugs. His gaze strays to Jensen’s wrist, where there’s a blade that can be out in nanoseconds. He knows. He’s had it at his throat.

And all right, maybe the anger was partly because it was easier to mock than be shit-scared.

He swallows. “Get on with it,” he says, pushing his shoulder into Jensen’s hand. Then he looks up. And tries not to freeze.

Adam’s eyes might be gold in this light. And then he looks away, thank God, and starts unbuckling Mac’s tacvest, fingers exactly as quick and sure as you’d expect from precision-engineered weapons.

Mac keeps his eyes fixed on the wall, and tries not to think about it.

Adam’s voice is quiet, when he speaks. “Used to get some pretty harsh winters back home. We were on the border. Less of an issue now.”

“Because you’re a multitool?” Mac mutters. But there’s no sting to it. “Sorry,” he adds belatedly, and wonders why. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have to make this harder. They're stuck here. There's no point in screwing them both over.

A low huff, maybe laughter. “Yeah.” Adam pulls, gently.

Mac takes the hint, and shrugs out of the vest. Tries to spread his stiff, awkward arms. Ad - Jensen puts the vest aside on the desk, and kneels. His hand briefly brushes Mac's knee on the way down, and then he's at Mac's feet.

This image has crossed his mind before, in rather different circumstances. He tries to keep his feet still. Or better still, his mind.

Jensen unlaces his boots, putting them aside with that fast, businesslike precision. He doesn’t even look Mac in the eye. Mac sort of wishes he would.

His socks go, too, then Jensen’s up quick as a shadow to work on his jumper, and Mac abruptly realises Adam’s been slowing down in an attempt not to freak him out. Those smooth metal hands spread at the bottom of his jumper and then pull it up, quick and businesslike. Mac raises his arms, wincing, and tries to pretend his mouth isn’t dry. If it is, it’s just the cold. Fucking Canada. Then they’re working on his shirt, his vest… One by one, they  _flump_ to the floor. Adam's hands brush his skin on the last layer, and Mac tries to focus on the cold. He's still shivering, if anything he winces at the cold air, he just...

He barely has a second to feel too bloody exposed, and not just from the low temperature – he can feel the weight of Adam’s eyes on him - when there are metal hands rubbing brisk up and down his arms, chafing him. He tenses before giving up.

He expected the augs to be cold, even with Jensen’s earlier comment, but… they aren’t. They give a slow warmth, like somebody’s holding a hairdryer turned low to his skin. And they aren’t crushing him like a twig, either.

And then Jensen steps back and looks at the wound running down Mac’s side. Should have been glancing, really, and it’s far from the worst he’s had, but it somehow got into the muscle and it fucking  _hurts._ It’s a mess of blood and red irritation. He shoved something on it to stop him bleeding out, but the dressing’s… not pretty.

Adam peels it away, not looking up at Mac’s hiss of breath, then tosses it aside and reaches for something at his belt. He pulls out what look like painkillers and bandages. But they’re the enhanced ones - VersaLife’s finest. He wordlessly holds out the painkillers.

Mac takes the pills and swallows them dry. It’s a mistake. They taste like absolute shit, and he winces, running his tongue over his teeth and swallowing again to try and get rid. Jesus, he’d take eating snow over this. He realises too late that Adam’s watching him. He spots something briefly like amusement flicker over Adam’s face, then it’s gone, and Adam -

He tries to stay still, but he inhales at the first touch of Adam’s hands on his skin. He can’t help it. Adam’s hands are gentle, gentler still at his wince.

Adam checks the wound, then rips the packet with his teeth. He pulls out a wipe, pockets the pack, then starts to wipe away the blood. It’s with that same matter-of-fact gentleness, but his hands are steady.

“There’s...” Mac grits his teeth, winces. “There’s a numbing agent in those, right?”

“Yeah. Minor, though.” Adam returns to his pocket and pulls out the bandages.

Mac stands there, trying to suppress a sigh, while he’s bandaged up and Adam rips them with those sharp white teeth. Adam tapes him up, and then checks it over. “Should start closing up soon.”

The pain fades when Adam gets further away from the wound, and maybe the painkillers are kicking in, because there’s something else replacing it. Something that… isn’t pain at all. He glances down, at shining black augs. Adam’s hands are spread against his skin, gold knuckles catching the light. He looks too long, throat dry, heat spreading up his spine.

 _Fuck._ He’s not even -

He realises that Adam’s looking up at him. He was right the first time: those eyes are reflecting the light, brighter than natural ones.

“I’m not going to  _break_ ,” he says. It sits in the silence, and he tries to work out why the hell he said it. Maybe because something like fear is rising in his throat. Not fear of Adam. Fear of the fact that his stupid little affliction might be worse than he thought.

“I know.” Adam’s voice is low, almost soft. “Blankets are over there.” Then he draws back, and stands.

Mac’s frozen fingers are starting to cooperate, but not enough. He curses as he works at his damp, cold combats, and ends up shoving them down with his wrists. Fuck. At least the cold helps him focus, even if it's a lot better just for the heating being on. The boxers aren’t too bad, and they stay on. Especially when there’s an aug in the corner, eyes steady on the wall, pretending not to watch him.

“Comms are still down,” Jensen says. “Sounds like they might be coming back online soon, though. I’m getting… fragments.”

Mac doesn’t see much choice. He trudges to the bed, shivering, and tries to get a rough woolen blanket round himself. Piles another on top of it. He rubs at his arms, trying to get some damn warmth. It doesn’t work for more than a few seconds. Nothing fucking does.

Jensen heads over to the computers again, taps on some keys and frowns. Then he pauses, and looks over. “Offer’s still open. You taking me up on it?”

Mac hesitates, and wonders what the fuck’s become of his life. Then he remembers warm hands on his arms, and that steady heat, and tries not to beg. “ _Yes._  All right?”

Jensen nods, then he’s unbuckling his own tacgear and laying his weapons aside. “A lot of it’s the dermal augs.”

“Whatever works.” Mac’s teeth are gritted. “I’d like to keep my toes, thanks.”

Jensen nods, and pulls his turtleneck over his head. Mac remembers suddenly that it was mostly Adam's limbs that were replaced, as he watches muscle ripple and flex. He looks away and thinks, sharp:  _Fuck._

Then Jensen’s tossing the sweater aside. He unlaces his boots with that same augmented smoothness, then he’s shrugging out of his combats too. Mac knew his legs were augs, too, but it’s different seeing them. There's gold on them, shining dully around Adam’s knees, and they’re long, lean as everything else. Adam would’ve been tall before, and he still is. Adam’s toes flex, briefly.

Mac says, before he can help it, “You can pick up how fucking cold that floor is, can’t you?”

Maybe it’s just to say something, and not focus on how Ad – Jensen is paler than he expected, for an American. Or how the augs almost make sense, when he sees how they feed into everything else. He knows of Sarif augs and he's seen Adam's files, but those were medical records, blueprints. In person, they're almost... There's a weird sort of elegance there. Adam’s got fucking  _bolts_ across his chest, and that should… it should look wrong. It doesn’t. And disgust’s not why Mac’s focusing so hard on the computer across the room.

 _Christ._ He’s not – he doesn’t have some sort of – he’s never looked at any augmentations like that. It’s just not something he does.

Adam says as he heads across the room, “Yeah. It’s more the core temp that the augs deal with. My feet, uh… they don’t overheat that often.”

And then Mac’s staring at the ceiling as the blankets lift and Ad-  _Jensen_  slides into bed with him.

The silence echoes. He can already feel the warmth coming off Jensen, even without touching him. Or with their elbows just brushing. It's like he's in bed with an open fire, and he realises he's already leaning into it. Pulls himself back.  “So how are we doing this?” He looks over.

Jensen’s watching him, gaze level. He reaches out a hand and rests it on Mac’s waist, still like he’s waiting for a punch. When it doesn’t come, he shifts closer.

Mac winces at his own stupidity. Then he shuffles across and gets it over with, so he doesn’t have to look at Adam’s face. He hears,  _feels_  Adam inhale when he plasters himself against him. Surprise, probably. God, Adam’s skin is almost too hot, after how bloody cold he’s been. Feels like forever since he’s been warm. He sinks into it.

Adam’s arms aren’t as uncomfortable as he thought they’d be, for metal and polymer, and it’s almost like…

Well. Been years since he’s been in bed with a man.

And.

He’s never been in bed with Adam. That ex in Detroit must have been lucky. She must’ve never needed a space heater, at least.

That’s not a good thought to have. Especially now. He swallows, and tries to get comfortable.

He tucks his chin against Adam’s shoulder, and tries to think of something else as the minutes pass. Anything other than lean muscle against him, and hot skin, and Adam’s soft breathing. Or the fact that he’s currently stuck cuddling  _Jensen_ , an augmented pain in the office who’s quiet and deadly in the field and looks out for civilians, always, even when it costs him. Or Adam, who saved his life and looked like he was about to fall asleep on his feet afterwards. Who seems to live on coffee and low-level hostility, and who…

Focus. Focusing would be good.

“Jensen,” he says, quietly.

Adam hums an acknowledgement.

“Look, in London… you stopped that tower block going up. And I’m pretty sure you saved one of the few mates I’ve got in this business.”

“Almost sounds like you’re thanking me.” Adam’s voice is wry, and his breath is warm against Mac’s neck.

“That’s because I am. Stop being a prick.”

There’s a low rumble against him, a soft noise, and he recognises it a second too late.

“Fucking hell, I have to  _cuddle_  you. Do you have to laugh at me?”

But it’s a good sound. A really good sound, rough and pleasant. He feels it go through him, and fuck, that doesn’t help the heat spreading under his skin at all. Adam’s hand shifts to his back, and spreads, five points of warmth. Something soft brushes against his neck, and he realises it’s Adam’s beard where Adam must have ducked his head. Adam’s mouth touches his skin, briefly, accidentally.

“Adam,” he murmurs.

He feels himself tense, and then Adam freezes, pulls back. “Sorry.”

“It’s not you,” Mac says, through gritted teeth.

He feels Adam’s head turn just slightly to look at him. A smooth leg brushes over his, too close – He drags in a breath. Tries to think of something, anything else. But he just ends up remembering those sharp gold eyes, or the way Adam touched him. He can imagine those fingers slipping lower...

He tries to shift his hips away, subtly.

He hears Adam’s soft inbreath of understanding.  _Fuck_. Adam says, quietly, “Nothing personal. Just happens.”

Mac grunts, and feels the heat in his cheeks. “Yeah, course.”

Adam pauses.

Mac says, “If you even  _try_ that fucking CASIE...”

“I wouldn’t.” Adam’s voice is serious. Adam draws back, and suddenly that bright gaze is on his. It's even stronger this close. “There a reason you think I’d need it?”

Mac’s arm tenses around Adam as he realises he’s just walked himself to the gallows. “I – Fuck off, Jensen.”

Adam’s staring at him, now. “Huh.” He inhales. “I’ve gotten this wrong, right?”

“You saying I want - ? With you?” That last part is too soft to be a denial. More of a full stop than a question mark. Mac swallows, losing the words.

Adam watches him, intent. “You tell me.”

“I don’t…” Mac winces. “Look, it’s not going to be an issue. I wasn’t planning on  _doing_  anything about it.”

Adam tilts his head. “That's a shame,” he says, casually.

Mac stares.

Adam just looks back, eyes darkening, and licks his lips.

Mac feels Adam’s fingers running over his shoulder, up his neck. Adam’s thumb strokes over the scar he got years ago, and that’s… Oh,  _fuck it._

One of them moves. Or both. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.

All he knows is that the kiss is almost bruising. He gets a hand on the back of Adam’s neck and pulls him closer. Adam goes with it, hand twitching against his cheek and then tilting his head to get a better angle, and then it’s so fucking good that he wonders how he held out so long.

He reaches out blindly and his fingers bump into something hot, smooth. He spreads his fingers, and realises he’s touching Adam’s chest when that gets a soft sound low in Adam’s throat. He keeps going, half to feel more and half to try and get his hands warm. And maybe because that pleading noise in Adam’s voice is going straight to his cock.

He thought Adam would have the same arrogance in bed, not… this. Arrogance would’ve been easier, more disappointing. Then he wouldn’t be trying to memorise the skin under his hands or the way Adam presses up against him, knowing he’ll probably never see it again. Never see him like this again.

Not demanding. Not quite. Adam doesn’t need to demand. Jesus, he wants to give it. 

He wonders how long it’s been since someone just touched Adam rather than beat the shit out of him, checked him over or tightened his bolts. None of his business, but he suspects it’s been a while, from the way Adam shivers and kisses him harder.

Adam’s hands leave trails of heat wherever they go, spreading over Mac's skin. They stray down his back, and then to his side, where…

He pulls away to raise an eyebrow. “Nice try.”

“Guess the painkillers have kicked in.” Adam’s voice is wry, and he shifts his hand to check over the wound.

Mac sighs. “It’s VersaLife. I’m not going to be reopening that except with a crowbar.”

Adam grins – the proper thing, not the cocky-arsehole smirk, all eyelashes and crow’s feet and that’s… that’s not fair. “You’re a funny guy. When you’re not being an asshole.”

“Yeah, I could say the same to you.” Mac ducks his head and nips just slightly at Adam’s neck. That gets a nice little shudder that seems to go all the way down – he feels Adam’s hips buck before Adam pulls himself back, tensing. So he does it again, mouth open against Adam’s throat, and half-grins as he feels Adam’s rapidly hardening cock against his leg, hot and heavy. And...

And he pauses at one of those black cords.

He hears, sees, Adam swallow. He glances upwards and Adam’s just staring at the ceiling. Waiting, again.

No. Fuck that. There’s been enough waiting.

“Really thought they’d be colder,” he says. It’s as casual as he could muster.

He feels Adam half-look down at him, surprised.

He touches the other one, hands straying across the… Typhoon ports, he remembers. It should bother him more that he’s dry-humping a human explosive, but that’s at the back of his head, drowned out by the pounding in his ears and Adam’s steady, surprised gaze. There’s a whisper of skin as he runs his fingers across Adam’s chest, touches where skin gives over to the black of Adam’s arm. He grabs that arm and pulls Adam closer.

He doesn’t know exactly how he ends up on top of Adam, the covers thrown aside. He just knows that he rolls a little and Adam hums like he really, really likes that, licking into his mouth, a leg slipping between his. So he keeps going, until he draws back and there’s a panting aug underneath him with a hand on his arse. And that hand  _squeezes._

One of those swift, sharp grins, and then Adam pulls him back into another kiss.

He can’t help it. He grinds down, just a bit, trying to find friction – There. Adam makes a soft, almost pained sound, and suddenly the slick slide of their mouths is mirrored further down. Adam grinds into his thigh while kissing him deep and hot, wet, like he wants to be fucking him and doing it  _now_.

And there’s a thought. Not unappealing. Sadly, “always prepared” doesn’t cover packing lube on combat missions, and he wants…

He just wants  _more, now._ The rest’s too bloody technical.

“Are we - ?” he manages, and puts a hand on the waistband of Adam’s boxers, pulling and letting it snap back just a little while he determinedly ignores the tent Adam’s pitching.

“ _Please_ ,” Adam grinds out, deep and rough, in a voice that goes straight down Mac’s spine. Fuck. With his luck, every time Adam asks him to do something, he’s going to end up picturing Adam looking at him, dark-eyed and mostly naked and... hard enough to hammer nails.

Mac gets his hand under the waistband, and pauses. “Christ,  _that’s_ not augmented, is it?”

Adam snorts, throwing an arm over his face. “Thanks. No, that’s… that’s all me.”

“Not what I meant.”

Adam sobers. “I know. And no.” He lifts his hips, and Mac knows an invitation when he sees one.

Besides, the answer is enough. And he really,  _really_ wants to get those off. And then get Adam off. Hopefully in that order.

He shoves them down and Adam kicks them away. And he was planning to get his hand on Adam’s cock at some point, but Adam’s too busy shifting forward and grabbing for his underwear like a man possessed. Adam shoves it down Mac’s legs and pulls it aside.

Mac manages, “If you’ve ripped those...“ It comes out without much of a threat to it. He’s too busy watching Adam lick a hand and -

Fuck.

It should terrify him, those augmentations near his cock. Instead he exhales at the first touch of Adam’s fingers and fights to keep still. “ _Fuck.”_ Adam gets a hand round him and gives him a long stroke. His hips buck into it, and he has to work to keep his eyes open. “ _Fuck_ _ing..._ _”_  He looks down and realises he’s smearing precome on that shiny black finish. 

“Yeah. You said that already.” But Adam’s voice is soft, distracted, and there’s a flush on his skin. He looks up to meet Mac’s eyes, and his own are nearly black.

Mac opens his mouth -

Adam kisses him and drags him down, mouth opening against his. Mac falls into it. It’s deep and filthy, and when Adam thrusts against him, Mac grabs one of those shiny knees and hitches it up to get a better angle.

They’re adults, they’ve done this before, they should be patient about it.

They aren’t.

It’s a desperate grind in the half-dark. They gasp into each other’s mouths, thrusting against each other hard enough Mac has to grab the headboard, chasing the high. One of Adam’s hands tightens on Mac’s back while the other finds their cocks. Adam strokes them both, roughly, trembling against him. Mac didn’t even know the augs could  _do_ that _._

He loses that thought when he bears down harder, fucking into Adam’s hand and cursing at the hot drag of them together.

He’s not the only one. Adam's wild-eyed, and then he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering. “ _Shit,”_ Adam hisses, turning his face into Mac’s neck.

Mac tries to keep his head together, but it's building fast enough it takes him by surprise. “Christ, I think I’m going to...” he mutters.

Adam looks up and pulls him into a sloppy, desperate kiss that's more panting against his mouth than anything. Mac pulls him closer, kisses back, and Adam's ragged breathing gives way to soft little noises. His rhythm slips. And then it comes back, harder. Adam's strokes become fast, brutal.

Mac’s barely holding on when there’s the scrape of teeth at his neck and Adam grits out, “ _C’mon_.”

“God, you're... Oh,  _fuck,”_ Mac breathes, and comes so hard it almost hurts, vision whiting out. Adam pumps him through it, mouthing roughly at his skin.

When he can think again, he gets a hand round Adam to finish him off. And then there are metal fingers wrapping around his and quickening the pace, and Adam’s eyes meet his. Adam only lasts a second or two longer before he thrusts hard enough to shift them both and comes with a hoarse, pained sound. He falls back onto the mattress like the world's just been taken off his shoulders. 

Mac rolls away and says quietly, “It always like this with you?”

Adam blinks at him, and still looks hazy. It’s weird, seeing him this relaxed. “It's... been a while.”

“One hell of a cleanup.” Mac tilts his head and just looks, for a second, taking in the sight of Adam flushed and dazed, come still on his skin, looking like some kind of aug fetishist’s wet dream. Or maybe just Mac’s.

Adam swallows, and looks like he’s remembering to be self-conscious. “Yeah. The wipes’ll double up.” He rises to sit up slowly, like he’s still shaking off the orgasm, and then heads across the room, rifling through the stuff he put aside. He cleans himself up and then tosses a couple to Mac, who does the same. “You sure you haven’t opened that up?”

Mac tries to get his head round the segue, until Adam nods in his vague direction. Or rather, at his side. Then he checks the dressing so he doesn’t have to look up at Adam, who’s still naked and still… too bloody much. “It's fine." He inhales, words rising in his throat - he tries to stop himself from saying it, and can't. "Look, is this one and done?”

Adam looks back to him, eyes sharp. “You want it to be?”

“I...” Mac loses the words. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again.” He shrugs.

Adam half-smiles. “Same.” Then he cocks his head, frowns.

“What?” Mac says.

Adam steps into his boxers and pulls them back on. “Sounds like the storm’s passed, I’m getting...” he starts. His eyes go distant, and his head rises in that on-the-infolink way. All Agent Jensen,no Adam. “Yeah, we’re… Yeah, I figured it was back online.” Mac knows Adam doesn’t even have to speak fully, and it’s for his benefit. “We've got it.” He reaches across and touches the drive, briefly.

Mac gets his pants back on, at least, and listens.

“Sure. Thanks.” Adam exhales, and looks back to Mac. “That was Miller. They’re sending a VTOL. ETA twenty minutes.”

Mac sighs. “Thank fuck.” He looks to the pile of clothes, and grimaces. “At least the dampness might make it look less like we’ve just - “

Adam raises a brow.

Mac hesitates, walks that back. “Like I’ve just had a damn good handjob. Thank you.” He tries not to think of the way Adam sounds when he comes, or how he can’t unlearn that.

Adam nods. His mouth works, and then he says quietly, “Doesn’t change anything, right?” And there’s something in his tone… Suddenly, Mac wonders.

Mac stares at him. “Why? Do you want it to?”

Adam looks at a wall. “Maybe. I don’t… uh. I don’t know.”

“Look… maybe we should talk about this when we’re not in the arse-end of Canada.” Mac climbs to his feet and crosses the room, partly to gather his gear and partly -

Adam makes a muffled, surprised sound at the kiss, and then sinks into it.

Mac pulls back, and claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to get the gear.

He can feel Adam’s eyes on him, but there’s a different weight to it now. And the shades still haven’t been brought out.

After the VTOL, he tells himself. It’s a start.


End file.
